This semester, I began taking piano lessons. After my first lesson, I was over the moon, completely in love with the piano, knew I was going to be the next Chris Martin.
I was wrong.
Now, four months into lessons, I HATE the piano. It has become the bane of existence. I don’t like practicing. My fingers don’t move as quickly as I’d like for them to. The notes confuse me. And if I hear “Every good boy does fine,” one more time, I might scream.
But I have to finish my lessons.
And I’m thankful that I tried. Because you don’t really know what you like until you try something that you hate. Isn’t that life? Figuring out what is good and what isn’t.
Listening to the piano, that is good.
Playing the piano? Not so good.
I’m sticking to being a piano spectator. And I can now cross “Learn to play the piano” off my life list.